


Dough go breaking my heart

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Series: Inktober 2020 SanCor fest [21]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Final Fantasy XV, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M, Seamstress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: Inktober prompt #23: RipContinuation of prompt 22
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Cor Leonis
Series: Inktober 2020 SanCor fest [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948696
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Dough go breaking my heart

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have the time or energy to edit this, so here, have the raw writing. I will edit tomorrow  
> Edit: 10/24 Okay! Edited!

After that first meeting, Cor found his confidence in talking to Sansa, as she came in every afternoon. It came to a point where before the lunch rush, he would set aside whatever lemon treat he had made that day for her, wanting to see that bright smile and soft blush on her face when he reveals it when she comes in.

At one point, Prompto commented on him making lemon pastries as a common product he had been making, to which Cor shrugged and offered a noncommittal answer. He was a little embarrassed with how far he was going for the sake of a crush, but at least it was motivating him to experiment with new ingredients.

It was during an afternoon on a Saturday, when they close at two instead of four, that Prompto spotted something as he helped wash some muffin tins.

“Hey, Cor? I think you got a hole in your shirt.”

Glancing up from where he was perusing some recipes on his phone, Cor looked up at the teen. The blonde gestured to his own waist, and Cor began twisting around in search for said hole, and cursed when he found it.

A large rip going up the left side of his shirt, and for the life of him, Cor could not figure out where it came from. With a sigh, resigning himself to patching it up later, he exited the kitchen through the back door. It lead into an alley way, with a metal staircase leading up to his apartment, and he began to climb up them, unlocking his door.

The door barely closed as he began to strip of the shirt, tossing it on his small dining room table and digging out a new one from his dresser, just as black and short sleeved as the previous one. Tugging it on, he frowned minutely at how it was a little tighter than his normal shirts, but huffed, uncaring.

Cor began to leave the apartment, wondering about where his sewing kit was, before freezing, one foot out the door. Looking back slowly at the balled up shirt, he cocked his head in thought. He was a decent sewer, able to fix up holes and rips no problem. But Sansa didn’t know that.

With a grin he went back inside, snagged the shirt and locked up the door. With a pep in his step, he entered the back door and announced to Prompto, who was studiously scrubbing at a pot,

“I will be back in a bit.” And then marched through the bakery and out the door with a determination he hadn’t felt since commanding a troop of soldiers.

Sansa could very well say she didn’t expect the new shop across the street to have such an attractive owner, and her red face was evidence enough of her surprise. Her first thought upon seeing the man, was that he was quite handsome, but she had met many a handsome men, and it didn’t faze her one bit.

But then he leant across the counter, moving with predatory grace, and her eyes caught on the exposed forearms, sleeves rolled up. She could see the muscle ever so slightly flex at his movement, and the faint flutter in her chest sky rocketed when he flirted. The low purr in his already deep voice had her near swooning.

However, she managed to keep her composure, smile, and leave. Only actually freaking out when she was in the safety of her shop. Hand over her mouth, she gave a muffled scream, face so hot you could cook an egg on it.

Then taking to first bite of the lemon tart after she calmed down, Sansa thumped her head onto the counter, moaning in delight and frustration. It was so good, it’s unfair. ‘ _He can bake and he’s attractive. This should be illegal._ ’ Sansa bemoaned internally as she continued to stuff her face with his delicious food.

Of course she went back the next day. And the day after that.

After a week of going, Cor, as she soon learnt his name, was setting aside something for her as her lunch was after the main rush hour. She worked from eight to six, strange hours, but they worked with how her clients at times had strange hours too.

For example, one of her favourite clients came in after her lunch, bell tinkling lightly overhead. Sansa looked up from some embroidery for a commission to greet the customer.

A wide smile appears on her lips, as she chimed, “Welcome back Mr. Lannister!”

The older man never really smiled, face to set and stern for that, but his faintly whiskered cheeks did twitch at her greeting. “Miss Sansa. Good day I hope?”

For a second her thoughts strayed to Cor from this afternoon, when he handed over her usual order of lunch, but decided against talking about her love life. With a causal shrug, she replied, “Oh the usual. I was just finishing this last stitch and then I needed to cover your jacket. You’re a little earlier than expected.”

His face didn’t twitch an inch with any guilt, but he still said, “Apologies. There is no rush this time though.”

Recalling their first meeting, she give him a teasing smile, looking up from her stitches, “No urgent meetings then?”

When she first met Tywin Lannister, it was around late afternoon, and he had arrived in a fury. Apparently, some passerby had accidentally spilled coffee on his dress shirt on the way to a meeting. His usual dry cleaners was too far, so he found Sansa’s as a last resort.

She knew immediately who he was. After all, you can’t grow up in a family as rich and as old as her’s was, and not know who one of the main family business competitors was. Sansa was stunned at seeing him, knowing his reputation, but was quick to help.

Normally, she would assert her policy on not doing orders straight away, needing time to clean and press, and hated being under pressure. But Sansa wasn’t an idiot, and collecting the ire from such a rich and powerful man was a bad move.

So she brought him around back to the storage room, and had him change into a clean shirt, a customer who wouldn’t be collecting said shirt until tomorrow so she had time to re-clean it. Then she got to scrubbing, needing to hand wash the shirt to get out the still damp coffee.

Sansa worked fast, throwing it into the drier on delicate, and then bustled upstairs and brought down a cup of tea for the angered man. He just grunted in thanks, tapping quickly on his phone. Having lived with her father for many years, she knew when to leave a business man alone.

After the shirt was dried, she ironed out the wrinkles and presented it back to Tywin, who was quick to change and leave.

At his exit, Sansa felt frustration beginning to build at the lack of payment for her job, and continued the rest of the day angry at herself on not asking him to pay during the wait. She was now behind on quite a few tasks, and had to rewash the shirt he had borrowed.

But, upon her starting to close up shop, anger now a tired simmer, he came back and paid.

It was more than what she would normally ask for, even for a last minute situation. But he insisted, and she was not one to argue against well-earned money and payment.

After that, she saw him more, and after a few weeks of his patronage, she wondered about his previous dry cleaners, asking him just that. He dryly replied, “Do you not want me around, Miss Stark?”

She had frozen at her last name, not knowing how to react at Tywin knowing who she was. Sansa couldn’t help the slither of fear that made it’s way onto her face, but he just rose an eyebrow in reply.

It took her awhile to calm back down, relaxing when ever he entered her shop instead of tensing. Sansa, for weeks, was dreading for when her family would barge into her shop, demanding she return home. But it never came. She wondered at him keeping it a secret, but figured that it was the least he could do with how prompt and efficient she was at her job.

Back to the present, Tywin drawled back, “If you call a meeting with your brother urgent, then no. None.”

Huffing out a laugh, she cut the last thread, and asked, “What has he done this time?”

With a soft grumble, the older man answered, “He is better than your father, that’s for sure. Though still has the propensity for being _too_ honest.”

Sansa couldn’t hold back the snort and snarked, “Yes well, my father likes to see the good in everyone.” And moved from her work table to the rack, hanging up the dress she just embroidered on.

“Moronic for a business man.” She heard behind her as she moved to the back room, calling out in response, “Never said it was a smart thing, Mr Lannister!”

A faint chuckle reached her ears as she left the back room with his coat, but when she got closer his face was back to that same stern set it was always in. “This is why I prefer you to your brother. He is a good business man, doesn’t make him an interesting one. His straight forwardness makes meetings quicker, but so very _dull_.”

He took the coat as she handed it over the counter and Sansa was chuckling at his complaint. “Well, I left that life for a reason. And even if I stayed, you would never see me behind a meeting table.”

And it was true. She was raised to be married off to some important business man, made to be like her mother. Having children, throwing important galas, and not stepping an inch into the actual business. She would be something pretty on her husband’s arm. A trophy wife. So she ran away, with her grandfather Rickard’s blessing.

It also seemed that Tywin disapproved of her ‘ _wasted potential_ ’ as he once said. His own daughter was to be running his business when he retired, being just as cunning and intelligent as he was. His mouth dipped into a deeper frown, muttering, “Yes. Unfortunate that.”

Wanting to change the subject, she brought onto something that was always guaranteed to cheer him up. “And how is Joanna doing?”

His face brightened a little, a pleased expression at thinking of his dear wife and replied, “Good. In fact she has another commission request for you and asked me to inform you.” He flipped open his wallet to get his card to swipe for the payment.

Sansa perked up. Joanna had commissioned a few dresses over the years that she had known her and Tywin, and it was always the most exciting jobs. With the amount of money the Lannisters had, Sansa had quite a bit of free range when choosing good fabrics and designs. Cheerfully handing over his receipt, she said, “Well, she is free to call me tonight and we can set up an appointment. It would be lovely to make another dress for her again.”

After taking the receipt he made no move to leave yet, noting unusual there, and asked her with a pointed look, “How is Arya?”

Pursing her lips at the question, she replied cooly, “You tell me, Mr. Lannister. She’s the one interning under you.”

A silence reigned for a little it, until he huffed out in amusement, “As sly and cunning as ever.”

Surprisingly, Arya took to running a business and working in the family company quite well, but wanted to try working outside of the family. Sansa and her were still in contact somewhat, so she suggested to Arya about working under Tywin, after asking the man permission first.

“Thank you again, for taking her on.” Sansa said sincerely.

He just rose an eyebrow, “A Lannister always pays their debts, Miss Sansa.” He reminded her.

Unsurprisingly, their father allowed Arya to work in the business, as he favoured her, not evening thinking about making her a trophy wife like he would’ve with Sansa. She was bitter about it for years, until Arya managed to find her and reached out again. So maybe it was a bit of spite that had Sansa suggesting that she didn’t work under their father for interning, but no one has to know that.

And then the bell ran again, and when both turned to see the newcomer, Sansa’s heart leapt.

“Cor!” She greeted, maybe a touch too excited, and he bobbed his head in greeting. “Sansa.”

She took in his appearance, as she always did when she saw him, loving how the flour brushed against his clothes, spotting a smudge of dough dried on his cheek. This time, his face was clear, though flour still dusting his hair from when she saw him earlier. His shirt however, Sansa felt heat rise in his cheeks at how tight it was, very much showing off the muscle definition in his biceps and shoulder.

A throat clearing had Sansa startling back to Tywin, how flicked his eyes between her and Cor, before taking his leave. There was amusement in his green eyes as he tossed a wave before leaving.

“Uhm,” Focusing back on Cor properly and not just on his looks, “Was there something you needed, Cor?”

He gave sheepish smile and held up a balled up piece of cloth. “My shirt ripped.”

Giving him an unimpressed look, she dryly asked, “And you can’t do it yourself?”

“Ehh, think of it as a way to repay me for saving you pastries.”

Taking mock offence, her hand flew to her chest, “Well I _never_! I thought that was all out of the kindness of your heart.”

He leant forward on the counter, and in an exaggerated southern drawl, replied, “You have me mistaken for a gentleman, miss.”

Sansa snorted at his terrible accent, and held out a hand for the shirt. Once he handed it over, she moved it around until she found the hole.

Humming to herself she offered, “I can do this for free I guess. But you owe me.” Sending him a faux stern look.

Still leaning on the counter, he asked in that low, sultry voice of his, “How about a date?”

Willing her cheeks to not blush this time, she smirked back. “Deal.”


End file.
